It's Not So Bad
by Stootle
Summary: A look on the Turks' lives. It's not what it may seem to be. [ongoing]
1. Reno

A/N: Because I am really tired of seeing SuperDepressed!Fuckedup!DrugAddict!POMFGThere'sSomethingHorriblyWrongWithMe!Reno. Well, not really. If it's well written, I don't mind, but, seriously, it's completely OOC when he goes all clingy and whatnot. Yes, I _am_ a bitter bitch, thankyouverymuch.

Feel free to flame me. Watch me laugh.

--

(Reno)

Kicking my shoes off on the doormat and slamming the door in the ever-dull Midgar sky, I vehemently cursed at almost every person I knew. Old Shin-Ra, Rufus, Elena, Rude, Tseng, fucking MUDSLIDE or whatever natural disaster they fancied themselves to be...

The mission has been a success, as Tseng had said, in a half-hearted attempt to make himself feel that he wasn't at fault. Success, sure. A success that managed to get me two bullets in the shoulder, a gash or four on my back and legs, and all the colours of my rainbow on various _areas _of my body. Nothing that a good Cure couldn't handle, but fuck all if it didn't hurt like a fucking bitch.

I think Tseng missed a certain _area _of my body on purpose when he cast that Cure spell.

I tried to turn on the television only to be greeted by the snowstorm fuzz. Ah, right. I just collapsed a plate of Midgar onto Sector 7. Cable? Hah. I think not.

Elena, (or that's what I think her name was. I was too busy trying to stare down Tseng to really pay attention to her introduction) has just given me a bunch of sympathetic looks, saying that it was hard for me to kill the people that I might have lived with, and my feelings were perfectly understandable.

What?

I ain't no slum rat, that's for damn sure. I mean, sure, my slum drawl is damn near perfect, but she's a Turk now, right? She should be able to-- ah, screw it.

I bet she probably thinks that I'm some fucking depressed druggie, or something like that.

Nah, Nazzareno Lindari the fucking fourth came from a well-to-do family. I was just a bad apple, or whatever the hell the metaphor is. I went to a nice, clean private school, learned my ABC's, got my education, threw it all to hell and became a Turk.

Why?

Fuck if I know.

The job pays good, but the food in the cafeteria is chocobo shit. Lumps that are varying shades of gray. I do not call that food. I may be a slob, but I like to eat something with colour. I bet most of the people I work with like to think I come home to a huge mess; pizza boxes, clothes, garbage, and whatever else, and maybe a hooker in my bed (that wouldn't be so bad, actually). Nah, not me. I'm something of a neat-freak, even if I can't be bothered to tuck in my shirt. I mainly do that to piss Tseng and the President off. Tseng does the weirdest thing with his nostirls-- the kind of narrows them, while scrunchingthe top of his noseup at the same time. It would be ridiculous-looking on anyone else, but... hey, it's Tseng. He could wear nothing but toilet-paper and he would still look all imperial and shit.

Rude, he's possibly the only person who can stand to be around me. I don't know how the hell it happened, we just kind of... got stuck together. Friends by default, if you will. Not that I mind though. He lets me talk and curse and basically do whatever the hell I want, save for killing/maiming/raping/cooking someone that we haven't been ordered to kill/maim/rape/cook. He just has this languages of looks.

Hah, did you know his name is really Rudolph? God, he must have been some sort of mistake. Poor guy. He nearly broke my nose when I shouted it out (accident, I swear to god.) when reading his file.

Elena... well... She's annoying. Already. With boobs as fake as my hair colour. Turns out she's my replacement, as Tseng's suspended me for a few weeks. From the looks of it, she's a lousy hand-to-hand combationist. She's so screwed if she's getting my job. I hope Titfa or whatever Spikey-Ass called her punches her boob implants out of place. Fucking blondes.

Shifting gingerly on the sofa (expsensive, but it was worth it) and kicking my cat (not one word) off of the couch I sprawled out, glaring at the ceiling.

No, my life isn't bad. I'm just an asshole.

And I love it.


	2. Tseng

A/n: Yes, this is going to be some sort of... ONGOING thing. D: Ohnoes. I'm wasn't really in superbitchfromhell!mode while writing this, so I don't really feel the need to take cover.

But if you want to flame me, by all means, do so. I need a good laugh.

--

(Tseng)

Two days of solid work and we still have no idea where AVALANCHE is. Elena is all but hanging off of my arm, and Rude just... sits there. Reno has just gotten off of his suspension, and he's already filed for _maternity leave_...

--

"Gyaa-haa-haa! Heeey, Tseng, looks like one of yer Turks got themselves knocked up!" Heidegger chorttled on his way into my office (without knocking, of course...)--

Wait. Knocked up? But Elena just--

"Yea, yea, Reno, I think their name was."

"...Reno filed for _maternity leave?_"

"Yeeeup. Damn, he was a good Turk, too..." Heidegger left the office-- did he just _wink _at me?

I resisted the urge to bludgeon Heidegger into oblivion with my pen. Not only did heregister the fact that Reno was a man (he often posed as a woman. Shiva only knows why...), he signed for maternity leave. And Heidegger just passed the news to me.

Why _haven't _I fired him yet?

Going back to some contrasct or form that needed signing, I glared at the report that he left on my desk. I looked over it and--

My. God.

Reno put _my_ name as the father.

--

Signing some menial form, I looked at my watch and saw it was well into my lunch hour. Getting up and opening to door, I nearly knocked over Elena, who was buried and most definitley could not see over the top of the obscene amount of paperwork she was holding.

"S-sir!" Already the blush was working it's way on her cheeks; slowly evaporating my sympathy towards her, "I'm sorry, I didn't see you--"

"Of course you didn't. I doubt you could see anything. Whose papers are these?"

"Uhh, Heidegger's, mine, and Reno's."

Of course they are.

"Well, you can toss Reno's into the paper shredder, you know the one on the 54th floor? Yes, that one. Never jams. And give Heidegger's to me." As always, he had a startling amount of paperwork, and I found myself surprised that Elena could carry such a load. "I'll drop these off at his office." And maybe twist a few wires in his computer.

Who said I couldn't hold a grudge?

"Th-thank you, Ts-uh.. sir!" she said, continuing on, "I don't see why everyone picks on me, I mean, I know I'm the new girl, but, honestly--"

"Yes, it was rather unkind of them," I said, taking a sharp turn that led towards Heidegger's office and leaving the unjustified Elena behind me.

--

Later, at 5:30, the usual rush stormed past my office, literally shaking the walls and the pictures I had on the wall.

Reno liked to try and get on my nerves about them. They were peices of a famous Wutain artist, who specialized in abstract art. Reno claimed that the one by the door looked like a naked woman.

I have never been able to look at it the same way.

Someone all but falls into my office, and I look up from the computer screen to see a rumpled Rude, fighting to close the door against the mass of bodies. He fell back, panting lightly, against the door. This happened sometimes, especially on a Friday. He is relatively large and often (contrary to many people's beleifs) has trouble navigating the congested halls. We usually waited around my office in silence, until 6:00, then went our own way.

For someone as quiet as Rude is, I don't understand how Reno can be around him. The chattier the better, I would think.

--

I get home to my apartment, put my shoes in their respective place, grab a drink out of the refridgerator and sink into a chair. My apartment is, of course, design similar as to how one in Wutai might be, but not extravagant, as most people like to beleive. They like to think that I surround myself with petty luxuries, and meaningless baubles. No, this is, by a Wutain's standards, a normal apartment.

I finger-comb my hair as I think of what I am going to do with my Turks. Reno in particular.He's been a royal pain since the day he was hired, and, if possible, he's gotten worse. He once cut off all the electrical circuits to the whole Shin-Ra building. Things like that and signing for maternity leave do not go well with the Turks' reputation that we've spent ages upon building.

I sometimes wonder why I don't go for another job in the Shin-Ra company (anything else is not allowed. If you are that high-ranked in Shin-Ra, you do not come out from underneath the proverbial thumb of the company. You take what you know to the grave.).

But at least the paycheck makes up for that.

Most of the Turks are where they are because they really weren't good at doing anything. Myself included. I cannot draw, sing, write, or anything of that nature. So, there really was only a mediorce life out there for me. But they chose me to be a Turk.

It's not so bad.


End file.
